


It Might Never Be the Time When I’m Ready to Hear You Say Goodbye

by pencilguin



Series: You Found Me in so Many Places [4]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 10:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18259736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pencilguin/pseuds/pencilguin
Summary: [spoilers for episodes 2x08 and (vaguely) 2x10] After the last mission Paul finds one of Hugh's items that he forgot in their quarters.





	It Might Never Be the Time When I’m Ready to Hear You Say Goodbye

Steaming hot water washes off the sweat and dirt and the dust of Essof IV, along with most of the exhaustion and stress that the mission had brought with it. The fear remains, as does the pain. Paul closes his eyes and tries to think nothing. Naturally, he ends up thinking of Hugh.

Dried off and feeling marginally more relaxed, he reaches into his closet for some civvies that aren’t Starfleet-issued. He’s never been a fan of replicated fabric, always more of a creature of habit deep down, and right now he’s craving the comfort of his own, old clothes. Ideally some from before … before he met Hugh. Did he even bring any? Does he still _have_ any?

In the back of the closet his fingers find a piece of fabric that makes him pause. It feels familiar, but not like one of his that he remembers. He pulls it out—it’s Hugh’s.

A wave of memories comes crashing down on him. It’s a dark blue sweater; one of those colors that Paul usually wears—maybe that’s how they missed this one. It’s plain, long-sleeved, with a v-neck; thin but soft fabric that feels amazingly comforting. Hugh wore it on their third date, the one at the Metropolitan Museum. The one where Paul took his hand. The one where he _knew_.

He stares at it for a moment before he buries his face in the fabric. The tears just start coming on their own.

 

***

 

It’s been twenty hours since Paul found the sweater. He’s been thinking back and forth about whether he should just keep it or not. Part of him—the part that can’t let go, the masochistic part that would rather keep suffering the memories of what he’s lost forever, in fear of what he might have to suffer if he faced his problems instead—just wants to keep it, hang on to the memory of their past. All that he has left. But he knows it’s not his, and he has no right to keep it anymore, and he should at least give Hugh the option to take it back or reject it.

So he’s had it cleaned again, and braced himself, and walks up to Hugh’s new quarters. He takes a deep breath, repeats his prepared speech once more inside his head, counts to ten, takes another deep breath, and presses the door chime.

Hugh opens the door and Paul’s mind goes blank. His face looks neutral—a little surprised at the sight of his visitor, it seems, but other than that, there’s no way to read his emotions right now. At least he seems calm. Not angry; that’s a start. He’s so close, closer than Paul expected, and for the millionth time he marvels at how close in height they both are. Always at eye level. One of his favorite inconsequential details. He’s also unfairly beautiful, as he’s always been.

“Paul?”

Paul blinks a few times and clears his throat, looking down in an attempt to regain his composure. “Yeah. I’m—hello.”

“Hello.” Hugh looks at him curiously. “What can I do for you?”

Paul swallows down the million things he would beg for if he didn’t know better than to ask for them. Instead he says, “I found something in my closet. Your—your sweater. You forgot it.” He realizes his fingers are trembling. Wishes it wasn’t so obvious.

Hugh looks at the sweater, then back up at Paul’s face. It takes a moment before he responds.

“Come in.”

Surprised by the invitation, Paul slowly follows him.

He looks around shyly. They’re standard-issued spaceship quarters. Nothing special; smaller than their shared ones. They don’t seem to have much of Hugh’s touch to them … not of the old Hugh, at least. Maybe the new one is more of a minimalist. He feels like an intruder; someone who doesn’t belong here, with this new Hugh.

They stop in the middle of the room, both avoiding directly looking at each other. Paul waits for Hugh to say something; maybe an explanation for why he invited him in. He doesn’t get one.

“So,” he says eventually into the silence of the room. “Um, I—like I said, I found this, and since it’s yours, I thought you’d—you’d probably want it back.” His voice breaks pathetically on the last few words.

Hugh shifts uncertainly. Paul glances up and sees hurt on his face, or something too close to it, and he has to quickly look down again, at a nondescript corner of the spotless floor.

“I’m … sorry for intruding like this. I know you asked for some space—” He takes a few breaths in the hope that they’ll steady his voice. “I—I’ll give that to you. It’s just that I thought you should get—I don’t have any right to keep this …”

He almost recoils instinctively when Hugh takes a step towards him, and another, and another. He’s standing just a tiny bit closer now than one normally would, closer than he had ever since his return. Paul looks up at his face again.

“Thank you, Paul,” Hugh says quietly.

Slowly, Paul nods and holds the sweater out to him. Instead, Hugh takes one of his hands.

“What …?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep it?”

“I …” He really shouldn’t be surprised by how easily Hugh reads him. “No, but …”

Hugh gently takes the sweater from him and puts it down on the table, all without letting go of Paul’s hand, then reaches for his other hand as well.

“I asked you if we could talk yesterday. I know that was poor timing. Actually, I wanted to talk to you earlier in engineering, before …”

Paul huffs out an almost-laugh, thinking back. Hugh, too, laughs nervously.

“But maybe it was better this way,” he continues. “I’ve had some time to reflect, and … and make a choice.”

Paul closes his eyes, not sure if he wants to hear whatever comes next. He wants to pull his hands away, but Hugh doesn’t let go. Instead, he tilts his head, leans in a little closer, until Paul looks at him again.

“Can we talk now?”

“I’m …” Paul’s voice trembles. He tries again. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear what you’re going to say.”

Hugh pulls back a little and nods.

“I understand that … now. And I’m sorry for the way … some things happened between us before.” He smiles, and there’s something distinctly, unmistakably, beautifully _Hugh_ about it. “But maybe we can try again?”

The familiar smile gives him comfort, and hope, and how could he ever say no to it?

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the Culmets Discord server for the inspiration and encouragement, and especially to @EmmaKeladry for beta reading!


End file.
